night lion
by PunkRockHolly
Summary: Death was all he head to look forward to, but perhaps she can give him something more. IchixRuki
1. Prologue: Silent

I couldn't get it out of my head. So hard to write and make it the way I wanted it.

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The city is silent.

It is the silence of a city asleep, at rest.

See the soft quiet of the neighborhoods, the suburbs. Houses are dark, but streets are bright, illuminating cookie-cutter houses surrounded by manicured lawns.

Follow the softly but well-lit residential streets to the harsher, brighter city lights of downtown. The shine here is from windows and neon signs, advertising the late night food, drink, and dance.

The silence here is not so heavy; lighter, but permeated with dulled noise from the playgrounds of the night.

Continue down the neon avenues, and the lights begin to fade again. Not to the softness of the neighborhoods, but to the dim, cold, dank glow of the slums.

The silence is not pure like it is in the neighborhoods; nor is it light with the fun of the downtown parties. Here, it is a silence that is dense, but only skin deep. Here, it is only silent if one does not pay attention.

This silence is dangerous.

The silence presses down heavily, seems to muffle the senses and dull the brain. It is not only secretive, but tense. The hush of expectancy, waiting with bated breath.

_Where is it?_

It draws closer, and there is the prickly feeling of watchers, an unseen audience. The silence starts to amplify rather than muffle, and every small noise becomes terrifying, a threat.

_Where is the sudden noise coming from?_

There must be something happening, for the silence to be so dense, something one is only aware of if they know it is happening.

_This alley?_

Strained and anxious, the absence of noise grows into the illusion of rushing. It serves the same purpose, muffling all the frightening noises.

_That lightless spot, under the shattered street lamp?_

The rushing noise grows even louder, until it is a deafening clamor that panics the brain and shuts down all senses.

_Where?_

A gun shot rings out, cracking through the noise and stopping it short.

Suddenly there is nothing, no rushing, no whispers, no movement.

A collective breath has been let out.

The city is silent.

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I realize it's short and confusing. There will be explanations. Review.


	2. dinner & death

Well, here it is. First chapter. I had fun with this one, sort of. Hooray for 1 in the morning editing. _ Well, I like it.

I don't own Bleach. Dur.

Review, it's the nice thing to do.

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1 - dinner & death

There is no one apparent on the streets, but stop at any alley mouth and one can hear the shiver of whispers, the patter of footsteps. They are out of reach of the half-light of the street, as though hiding.

These are the real people of the night.

She is only out for a meal.

She doesn't intend to meet anyone, and she doesn't want to. She is only out for as long as it will take to find a meal.

When she hears the gun shot, she freezes, shocked, and almost feels the tension draining, like a snapped string. Her nerves unwind, and she can almost feel the city start to breath again. The silence resettles.

She finds herself walking towards the sound, slipping through the shadows like a phantom. She isn't really sure why, but something has piqued her curiosity.

She reaches the mouth of the alley and stands in the shadows, peering into the darkness. She hears rustling, and then footsteps. Before she can step out of the way, a man slams into her. He falls to the ground, swearing.

He stares up at her, eyes wide like a startled deer. Still sitting on the ground, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a hand gun. He points it at her, looking both frightened and angry.

"I'll shoot," he snarls, starting to stand. "Hands up."

She says nothing, and doesn't move, simply raises an eyebrow.

He starts to get angry. "I said, hands up!" He shakes the gun in her face, as if the insignificant hunk of metal were the scariest thing she'd ever seen.

When she does nothing, he growls in frustration. "Last time! Put your hands up!"

No movement. They have reached a standoff, an impasse. She refuses to be scared of him, and on a subconscious level, that terrifies him. He reacts like any human does to the terror, he lashes out.

Just barely preceded by the sound of the explosion, the bullet whizzes towards her. She barely has to twitch to the side to avoid it, faster than any human could. It wouldn't kill her, but they do hurt like hell.

She is on him in a moment, one hand gripping his wrist so tightly the bones crunch. The other is at his throat, lifting him off the ground slightly. He gasps, he didn't even see her move, but before the breath can be let out in a scream, she closes the distance to his neck and bites.

It is over quickly. Her senses are sharper. Her mind is calmed, and her throat is wet with his blood. She throws his body into a dumpster, knowing no one will miss him.

There is more blood, farther down the alley. She can smell it on the air, sweet and coppery. Her curiosity tugs her toward the scent, a strange need to see this man.

His feet scrabble at the ground in front of him as he tries to push himself back up. His back is pressed to the brick wall behind him, and hard as he tries, he can't raise himself up. His breath is coming in short, shallow gasps.

He watches her approach with eyes that are clearly afraid, even as they fade with coming death. She can smell that fear as well as she can smell his blood, in a puddle around him and smeared on the hand pressed to the hole in his stomach.

"Who...what..." His voice fades as his eyes go in and out of focus. His eyelids flutter, but he forces them open.

His wallet is next to him, lying open and face down where it was tossed by the shooter. She kneels and flips it open. There is an ID card in the once-clear sleeve, now smeared with dirt and blood. She wipes it as best she can, reads it, and then puts it in her pocket.

She looks up at him with a small sigh. His chin has drooped to his chest, and his breathing is slowing even more.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," she says quietly, pulling his chin up to see his eyes. He doesn't respond, but she sees the flicker of acknowledgement in his eyes.

"My name is Rukia. You're dying, Ichigo. I can help you. I'm not taking you to a doctor, but what I can give you is a second life, of sorts. Do you understand?"

He stares at her, and in his eyes she sees everything. He is delirious and dying, that much he can knows. She can see his fear, but also defiance. He is strong, and strong willed. And although he doesn't understand all the details, he understands that what she is offering is probably better than his alternatives.

She's offering him the life that has been cut short, but she is also offering him a second chance at a life that was going no where, and slowly.

Death was all he head to look forward to, but perhaps she can give him something more.

She nods, and, without saying anything else, cradles his head in her arm and lowers her mouth to his neck.

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Oh, goodie, a bit of a plot. I love plots. Reviewers get my eternal love and respect.


	3. finding power

Yeah...I went to Guatemala, and was hoping to have this out before that but...that didn't happen. Well, here it is. I only kind of edited it cuz I felt lazy. Sue me.

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2 - finding power

He is swimming out of a comfortable, warm darkness. The dark seems as reluctant to release him as he is to leave - but there is no staying. He can feel consciousness tugging at him, and with it a hunger so deep and fierce he feels he might go crazy.

Internally, he struggles futilely to stay there in the soft darkness. But his fight is short, for he knows that the more he struggles to go back, the farther he gets from it. Resignedly, he lets himself be pulled all the way to consciousness and opens his eyes.

He sees only the white ceiling, and then his vision widens and clears. He realizes that he is in a dark room, but he can see as clearly as though it is day. Which, he suddenly senses, it is. He doesn't know why he can tell this, but there it is. It is day time outside this small room.

The next thing he is aware of is not the room, but instead his ravening hunger. It gnaws at his stomach like a termite at the grain of a house, pulling him apart from inside. He has never experienced hunger like this, and he starts to get desperate. He sits up, wondering where the deliciously sweet, tangy scent is coming from.

His chapped, dry lips part, and he takes a deep breath, pulling in the smell. It is close. The scent is intoxicating, and his eyelids fall closed as he enjoys the scent for a moment. However, it is not enough, and the hunger begins to increase. He starts to feel pain in his stomach, and his throat and mouth feel dry and hot.

"You're awake." The voice startles him out of the haze of pain, hunger, and that delicious smell. He turns his head to look at the speaker - a small woman with black hair and a blank face. Her eyes are huge and purple, and her skin is a pale, creamy color. Not pasty, simply pale. No expression accompanies her words, which are bland; the only thing that conveys any interest is the slight tilt of her head.

He notices all of this in seconds, and then all he can notice is the fact that that wonderful smell is emanating from her. She takes a few steps across the room toward him, wafting it closer. He opens his mouth again, tasting it, and hears a growl coming from his own throat.

A tiny smile, more of a smirk, twists her pretty face.

"Are you hungry?" He nods. Her voice is almost as captivating as her scent.

The smirk grows, and he can see now that it is mocking, taunting. In this feral state, all he can think about is food, but that smirk angers him.

"Come and get your food then." She raises her hands slightly, as if offering it, but he can sense the challenge. With a snarl, he launches himself off the couch at her.

He misses though. One moment she was there in front of him, and the next she was gone. He hits the carpet and rolls, landing in a crouch and whipping his head around, searching. She is now off to his left, still with that maddening smirk on her face.

"You'll have to be faster than that," she says, her tone mocking.

He jumps at her again, but again she is gone. He half-snarls, half-whines his displeasure as he turns toward her scent again. How can she move so fast? He doesn't even see her move away. He tries again.

_This is almost too easy,_ Rukia thinks as she steps easily out of the way of his third leap. He is, of course, strong and fast, but no faster than any other newborn. She isn't sure why she was expecting him to be, though. She knew nothing about him when she decided to change him - if that is the word for it. It was hardly a decision, more of an instinct that would not allow her to walk away from this dying man. Something made him special, but she does not know what.

But if her instincts were telling her so strongly to change him, there must have been a reason. They have never lead her wrong before, and so she trusts them now, and continues to move out of the way of each new attack.

She can see him getting tired, and she wonders if this is pushing him too far, too hard. But no, this is what it's always like, or what it should be like. Push a newborn to his limits, and he is stronger. Make him fight for his first meal, and he will only be better for it. He will be stronger, faster, have more stamina.

And she can feel his strength. As his hunger and his anger increase, she can feel his power growing, swelling. She starts to frown as his attacks speed up, rather than slow down. Now he is starting to show improvement - but more than any newborn should. By now, he should have reverted to his last will and ounce of strength, throwing his power at her in some manifestation or another.

_What is going on?_ She wonders, and feels another pulse of his power. That is not normal for one so young, she can think of no other example of it. He is so strong, she can feel it, pushing at her mind and her body, trying to pull her down. It is frightening.

Suddenly, it drains away, as if he is sucking it back in. He stops the frantic, erratic attacks and stares at her, eyes blazing. She feels the power gathering, swirling around him, tightening, and she barely has time to throw up a barrier of her own making before -

_Wham!_

She loses consciousness, but wakes up only seconds later, on her back, as he lands on top of her. She can't think straight for a moment, and he pins her arms and legs with his own, snarling and flashing his fangs in her face.

When her mind clears, she doesn't have time to think about what hit her. He will rip her throat out in a few seconds.

_"Ichigo."_ The snarling stop, but his fangs remain bared.

Though she is still confused, Rukia knows she has no choice but to give him what he wants, for now. She smiles grimly and tilts her head to the left, exposing her bare neck to him.

"Drink," she says. "You have won, you earned it, you need it. Feed."

Ichigo doesn't really understand the specific words, but he knows what she is offering him. He doesn't hesitate to lower his fangs to her neck and drink.

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Hah, another cliffie. I know, I suck. Don't worry, answers in the next chapter. Otherwise it would have been stupid-long.

R+R. You'll get an internet hug and cookie.


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